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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25137715">Thinking Past Tomorrow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophWantsToWriteButWont/pseuds/SophWantsToWriteButWont'>SophWantsToWriteButWont</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And a good one at that, Angst, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Depression, Family, Foster Care, George Washington is a Dad, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, i promise this isn't going to be as dark as the tags make it sound, most just family feels, no beta we die like men, with a lot of emotional problems cause i like making my boys suffer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:54:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25137715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophWantsToWriteButWont/pseuds/SophWantsToWriteButWont</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of their son, the Washingtons never planned on taking in any more foster kid. But all it takes is one call to bring Alexander into their lives. </p><p>*** </p><p>aka: yet another foster care au where the washington's foster alex, laf is his amazing brother, he falls for john laurens who too has daddy issues (you know the drill)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton &amp; George Washington, Alexander Hamilton &amp; John Laurens &amp; Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette &amp; Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, George Washington/Martha Washington, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>234</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/7454740">the challenges we're facing</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account">orphan_account</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/9745625">Where You Started</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlixZin/pseuds/AlixZin">AlixZin</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/6080439">Rise Up</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohNooOOOOoo/pseuds/ohNooOOOOoo">ohNooOOOOoo</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>After reading just about every completed foster care AU in this god foresaken fandom, I just had to write my own. So here is a combination of all my favourite works, complete with the best cliches while still trying to subvert your expectations.</p><p>Yeah, this is going to be difficult.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex had been waiting for nearly three hours. As far as DCFS waiting rooms go, this one wasn’t bad. Sure, the fluorescent light in the left corner hadn’t stopped flickering, the air-con was set way too low and their book selection was dismal. Though the faded armchair Alex had curled up in was surprisingly comfortable and the vending machine actually had a decent variety of snacks. </p><p>Alex had long given up on trying to keep himself entertained.  The painkillers wore off and his head throbbed so much that even writing was torturous. His notebooks remained in his backpack, safely at his feet. No, he’d rather subject himself to the boredom of simply waiting.</p><p>“Another one can’t take him, I’m running out of options.” In the office across from the waiting room, the only two social workers still in the building had been scrambling to find him an emergency placement. Alex didn’t think they knew he could hear them. It’s hard to tell with social workers; what they would or wouldn’t say right in front of him. </p><p>Alex had told his social worker, Catherine, that there was no point in this trip. A four hour drive from New York City to Arlington, Virginia was a long way to travel on the word of some case worker claiming to have gotten in contact with his father. There was not a chance a man who walked out on his two children and their mother, would be interested in a sudden, happy reunion. And Alex had said as much, but Catherine had insisted that “policy is policy” and “your father still technically has parental rights.” Of course, they had gotten there only to find no James Hamilton and a very annoyed Virginian case worker. </p><p>“I don’t see why you can’t just take him back to New York with you?” the Virginian snapped. Inside the office, Catherine Livingston let out a deep sigh. </p><p>“I would if I could, but his case files have already been transferred to Virginia. He’ll no longer fall under New York’s jurisdiction and with the last known location of the father being here it would make no sense to transfer him back. Plus we wouldn’t get back ‘til midnight and then I’d still have to find an emergency placement.”</p><p>“Fine. Have been able to get a hold of his bio-dad?”</p><p>“No,” Catherine snapped back. “I’ve been trying to put together the placement paper work, but I’m missing half of Alexander’s file. Besides, even if I had, there’s no way I’d be allowing James Hamilton to take Alex after this mess.”</p><p>“Well I don’t really think that --”</p><p>Alex closed his eyes, trying to block out the bickering. Another migraine was coming on and they weren’t helping. The past few weeks had been utterly exhausting and he just wanted someplace safe to sleep. They need to just find him a placement already.</p><p>“I don’t see what else I can do other than contact a group home at this point.” The Virginian worker’s voice startled Alex from his stupor. <em> What? No way, group homes fucking suck. I’d rather be homeless. </em></p><p>“No. That’s not happening. We had finally found a good fit for Alex, only to have to uproot him again, bring him all the way here in the hopes of reuniting with family and now you want to put him in a group home?!? It’s not fair to him.”</p><p>“Ms. Livingston, I don’t like it anymore than you do.” Her tone was patronizing, beyond sweet and making Alex’s skin crawl. “But we’re out of options. No one’s going to take him right now. Not many parents are going to bring in another child when school starts next week. Especially not one with the history and behaviour issues that --”</p><p>“Wait a minute!” Catherine cuts in. “Are the Washingtons still registered foster parents?”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Martha and George Washington. Martha’s an old family friend of mine and they live not thirty minutes from here.”</p><p>“Let me check.” The was the clicks of a keyboard. “Hmm. They’re still registered, though they’re licence expires next month. There is also a case note on their file, that they are not available for placements at the moment.”</p><p>“When is the case note from?”</p><p>“Four years ago.”</p><p>“I’m giving them a call,” Catherine said briskly.</p><p>The Virginian started to protest, but it fell on deaf ears. Alex focused, trying to listen to Catherine’s call. However, all noise coming from the office stopped with the shut of a door. Damn it. </p><p>It was back to waiting. Alex could feel the coil of dread resting in his stomach. Luckly, he didn’t have to wait for long. Ten minutes later, Catherine emerged from the office grinning. </p><p>“Let’s get going kiddo! We found an awesome placement for you.”</p><p>Alex sincerely doubted that, but he grabbed his bag anyway and followed her out.</p>
<hr/><p>After previously spending four hour in the car that morning, Alex was not happy to be on the road again. The movement of the car was taking his headache from bad to worse. The sickly humidity of the summer’s evening clung to him. Irritated, Alex pulled his hair from the nape of his neck into a tangled bun. He felt feverish and completely out of sorts. </p><p>Half way through the drive, Catherine had endured his brooding for long enough and broke the silence. </p><p>“I’m sorry about what happened today, Alexander. It isn’t fair that you should have to be uprooted from your new family to come all the way here for no reason.”<br/>
Alex resisted every <em> I told you so </em> that was yearning to be said, found himself responding with: “It’s alright.” <em> Not like I really got to know my 'new family.' I was there for less than 48 hours. </em></p><p>“The Washingtons are really nice people,” Catherine pressed on. “They were foster parents for years, and have an adopted son around your age. When I talked to Martha on the phone she seemed really excited to have you staying with them. I really think this will be a good home for you.”</p><p>He’d heard those words before. And tonight, they really pissed him off. </p><p>“Just like how the Cooper’s were supposed to be a ‘good home’ for me?” Alex knew he was being rude, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The bruises still hadn’t faded and the entire experience stung fresh.</p><p>"Alexander, I am truly sorry about what happened with the Cooper’s. I wish I could have been able to help you sooner.” The genuine regret and sincerity in Catherine’s voice vanished Alex's anger immediately. It broke him down. </p><p>“Is there really no way you can take me back with you?” His voice sounded young and he felt his face heat up.</p><p>“You already know the answer to that question, kiddo,” she replied softly. </p><p>“I know. It’s just --” He tried to swallow the emotion, for once unable to find the right words. “You’ve been my social worker for years. You’re really good to me and --” <em> you care about me. And listen to me. And believe me when I tell you something’s wrong. </em> “And I … I don’t want you to not be in my life anymore.” </p><p>Alex turned from Catherine, fiercely wiping his eyes. They were driving through a subdivision now, tall tree cutting shadows across perfectly mowed lawns. He took a deep breath, struggling to keep himself mostly intact. </p><p>Catherine glances over at him, but Alex refuses to meet her eyes. “I will always be in your life. You can call me whenever you need anything. Even if I’m no longer your social worker, I’ll do whatever I can to help. I promise.”</p><p>“Thank you,” he whispers.</p><p>“You’re very welcome.”</p><p>The sun had nearly set. The meticulous neighbourhood was cast in a sleepy haze of gold. The further into the subdivision they drove, the larger or more grandiose the homes got. Despite his trying, Alex couldn’t escape the notion that this was going to be another family that treated him as an accessory. A prop to demonstrate their good-will instead of a person. </p><p>The car reached the end of the cul-de-sac and Catherine pulled into a long treed driveway. At the end stood a brick, colonial style house. The front porch lights were on, awaiting. The car came to a stop. Alex grabbed his black trash bag of clothes, slingling his book bag over his shoulder and crawled out of the car. </p><p>Catherine led him to the door, gave him a small smile, and rang the doorbell. Moments later the door swung open. </p><p>“Martha! It’s so good to see you.” The two women exchange a hug.</p><p>“You too. It’s been too long.” Martha responded, pulling back. She smiled at Alex. “You must be Alexander. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Martha Washington.”</p><p>Alex tried not to shrink from her gaze. He could just imagine himself from her eyes: a skinny latino kid with a bruised up face and ill-fitting clothes. <em> How can she even be smiling at me? I'm a fucking disaster. </em> A nudge from Catherine broke him out of his spiralling, self-deprecating thoughts.</p><p>“Hi.” He mumbled.</p><p>“Let’s get out of this heat. Come in.”</p><p>Alex followed them into the massive foyer. The air conditioning hit him like a truck. Suppressing a shiver and squinting from the bright lights of the modern chandelier. </p><p>“My husband, George, should be finishing up his conference call in a few minutes. Just leave your bags by the door for now, Alexander. I’ll put it through the wash after dinner. Have you eaten yet, dear?”</p><p>He had, in fact. On the way to Virginia, Catherine had taken him through a MacDonald’s for lunch. It was the biggest meal he had eaten in months and it had nearly made him throw up. Alex really wasn’t keen on pushing his body again. </p><p>“Uh, no ma’am,” he responded, taken aback. “But don’t worry about it, I had a big lunch.”</p><p>“Are you sure? We also have snacks. Granola bars, yogurt, fresh fruit? Or I could get you something to drink?”</p><p>Alex hesitated. Despite the current nausea masking it, Alex could still feel the gnawing ache of his underfed stomach. On the other hand, it’s best not to owe the Washington’s anything. The moment he accepts any kindness, it becomes a bargaining chip. Something to hold over his head when he acts out. Still, who knows how often food will be so readily offered to him here.</p><p>“A granola bar and water please, ma’am.”</p><p>“Just call me Martha, dear.”</p><p>Martha set about grabbing food and drinks before joining him and Catherine at the breakfast table. She was very pretty: tall, fair, curly greying hair and warm eyes. She had a naturally calm presence, just like his own mother. Alex recoiled at that thought. Don’t get your hopes up. Her being nice in front of a social worker doesn’t mean shit.</p><p>Alex sipped his water, tuning out the conversation. His head is pounding and he honestly can’t be bothered to pay attention. Besides, Alex knows from experience that Catherine avoids giving the rundown on him to new family in front of him. Part of him appreciates it. It’s less demeaning. But at the same time, he likes knowing what his foster parents know about him. That way it’s easier to manage their expectations.</p><p>“Sorry about that.” Alex jumped at the voice, looking up wildly. A tall middle aged man marched into the kitchen. “My meeting went longer than expected.”</p><p>His foster father was a man to be reckoned with. Broad and incredibly stern looking. Absolutely massive, especially when compared to some skinny, scrapy, sixteen year old foster kid. Alex ducked his head, trying to keep from fidgeting. Trying to keep from drawing attention to himself. The man could break him, given the inclination. </p><p>“It’s good to see you, Catherine. It’s been too long.” He slid on to the bench next to Martha, taking her hands in one of his. “I am George Washington. You must be Alexander.” It was not a question, and yet it demanded an answer.</p><p>“Yes, sir.” Alex replied stiffly, unable to keep the biting coolness from his voice. If Mr. Washington noticed, he didn’t comment at this moment. </p><p>“Well it’s nice to meet you.” </p><p>“Alexander,” Martha started. “If you’re done with your snack, would you like to go get a shower while we go over the paper-work with Ms. Livingston?”</p><p>Alex hesitated.</p><p>“I’ll still be here when you get out.” Catherine promised. “Go on. It’s been a long day.”</p><p>“Come on, son.” Mr. Washington said. “I’ll give you a quick house tour, as well.”</p><p>As much as he didn’t want to be alone with Mr. Washington, Alex wasn’t going to risk offending him. Begrudgingly, he followed his new foster father from the kitchen back towards the foyer. </p><p>“We’ll show you around properly tomorrow, just it’s getting late and I’m sure you’re tired.”</p><p>Alex grabbed his backpack from the front door and followed him up the flight of stairs. </p><p>“Bathroom is through here. Mine and Martha’s room is to the left at the end of the hall. And this,” Mr. Washington turned to the right and pushed open the door. “Is your room.”</p><p>It was by far the largest room he’d ever been given. A double bed opposite the door, pushed against the right wall. There was a large window next to it, complete with a reading nook. A full book shelf to it. The closet was on the left wall and most excitingly, a writing desk. </p><p>“I’ll go put a towel and change of clothes in the bathroom for you.”</p><p>“Uh … I left my clothes downstairs.” </p><p>“Martha said she was going to put your things through the wash. Our son, Gilbert, is at his friend’s house tonight, but he won’t mind you borrowing. But if you are uncomfortable with that, of course you can wear your own stuff.” </p><p>Alex almost scoffed. “If you are uncomfortable” Of course he’s uncomfortable, this entire fucking situation is uncomfortable. Every damn time he goes to a new home it’s uncomfortable. Not that he’s going to say that.</p><p>“It’s alright, thanks. I don’t mind.” He mumbled.</p><p>“Sounds good. Shampoo and stuff is already in there.” Mr. Washington smiled, turning to leave the bedroom. “Take your time. We’ll all be downstairs when you’re done.”</p><p>Alex returned a slight nod. He waited until Mr. Washington’s footsteps had disappeared downstairs before slipping into the bathroom and turning on the shower.</p>
<hr/><p>“I sent a copy of Alexander’s case files last night, but the Virginia office hadn’t printed it off yet so I don’t have the full thing. I have put together a basic placement packet, though.”</p><p>Catherine pulled a folder out of her page and slid it over to Martha. </p><p>“Your foster parent ID letter is in there,” she continued. “As well as the contact info for the Child services office in Arlington. I’m not sure who is going to be assigned as his next case worker, but you should get a call tomorrow.”</p><p>Martha nodded. She opened the folder, finding both those pages as well as a copy of  Alexander’s birth certificate, a United States passport and a stack of medical records. <em> Malnutrition, bruised ribs, mild concussion, split lip. </em> The list went on. </p><p>“I -” Martha’s words were caught in her throat. She took a deep breath and carried on. “I’m assuming this has to do with the ‘incident’ you mentioned over the phone.”</p><p>“Unfortunately yes. A lot has happened to Alex in the past few weeks.” Catherine took a sip of water, gathering her thoughts. “I’ve been off for nearly five months now, I just got back to work a few weeks ago. My father passed away, then I was on maternity leave and then I had booked my vacation time for right after. They brought one of the casual workers in full-time to cover my cases. I placed Alex with a new family right before I left.<br/>

"I had just gotten back to work -- hadn’t even checked-in with all my kids yet -- when I got a call from the cops. They told me there was an altercation and Alex was being held at the police station. Apparently, him and his new foster father got into a fist fight and the foster mom called the police. Foster-dad claimed that Alex had attacked him unprovoked and he was simply defending himself. I don’t believe it for a second. Alex is a good kid, and for a man would’d been ‘viciously attacked by that fucking bastard’ -- his word’s, not mine -- he was in pretty good shape.”</p><p>“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Martha said in disgust. She thought of the slight, young teenager with fading bruises just upstairs, and her stomach clenched. </p><p>“I wish I was. Of course the police officers took their word for it. White, middle-class couple vs. latino foster kid. They picked up Alex a few blocks away from the house and arrested him for assault. Long story short, the charges were dropped and I was able to bring Alex to the hospital.”</p><p>“And the foster family he was living with?” Martha almost didn’t want to know the answer.</p><p>“I was able to remove their two other foster kids, but that’s it.”</p><p>Martha felt sick. She couldn’t stop picturing her new foster son defeatedly hand-cuffed to the bench in some police precinct. </p><p>“Has Alexander said anything about what happened?”</p><p>“No. Other than deny what his previous foster father claimed, he’s refused to talk about it. But that’s actually unusual for him. Before he was always telling me if his foster parents were causing issues. The kid knows his rights as a foster youth extremely well and you know if anyone were violating them, I’d be getting a phone call from him.” Catherine chuckled. “He’s a lot of paperwork because of it but he’s worth it. They all are.” Martha hummed in agreement.</p><p>“After that he was in an emergency placement at a group home for four days, before we found a long term placement for him. Then a couple days later we got a call from the offices here in Virginia saying they found his bio-dad and now we’re here.”</p><p>“Wow,” Martha murmured, lost for words. Luckily, she was saved by George coming back into the kitchen. </p><p>“The kid’s awfully quiet.” He commented, wearily rubbing his face. Catherine cracked up laughing.</p><p>“I can promise you, he won’t stay that way,” she joked. “Once he opens up with you two, you won’t be able to get him to shut up. And for your sake Martha, don’t let him know what George does for a living.”</p><p>George lets out a barking laugh while Martha groaned.</p><p>“Big into politics, is he?” George grinned. </p><p>“Massively. He’s incredibly intelligent. You’ll see. He can be a bit mouthy and honestly is his own worst enemy, but at heart he’s a really good kid.”</p><p>George gave Martha a small smile and took her hand in his.</p><p>“We’re looking forward to getting to know him.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The first night and full day at the Washington's.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was so absolutely overwhelmed at all the support I got for my first chapter. Thank you so much!</p>
<p>I apologize that this second chapter to so long to come out. There was a lot I had to establish in this one, most importantly the foundation of Alex's character and the level of trauma he's coming into this new family with. I literally wrote three different versions of it with that in mind. Then I had to edit it all together, making sure it actually flowed and *sighs* basically it took forever.</p>
<p>Anyway it's here now! Enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Getting showered took longer than anticipated. Alex’s pain medication had fully worn off and his ribs burned at the slightest movement. Combined with his headache and lack of sleep, Alex was shocked he hadn’t collapsed yet. </p>
<p>Even if he could move faster, Alex knew he’d still be taking his time. Catherine wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to him. You can’t delay the inevitable, but he could prolong it. </p>
<p>So he took his time drying off and pulling on his borrowed clothes. The Washington's son is clearly a lot taller than him. The t-shirt hung off his thin frame and the sweatpants had to be rolled several times to avoid tripping over them. Double checking that he was leaving the bathroom tidy, he wandered into the hallway. </p>
<p>On the landing, Alex could hear the adults’ voices travelling upstairs. The far too familiar swell of anxiety stopped him in the doorway. </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m not ready. I’m not ready to say goodbye, to be left here with complete strangers. </em>
</p>
<p>Chest heaving, Alex steadied himself against the door frame.</p>
<p><em> You’re spiralling </em>, a clear voice cut in. <em> Find a distraction. Ground yourself in reality. </em></p>
<p>Alex glanced around, desperately, eyes finally landing on a photo collage across from the stairs. The photos had clearly been taken over the course of several years, documenting the Washingtons.<br/>
There were older ones. A much younger George and Martha at their wedding; two blonde children, a boy and a girl, sat on the front steps; a school photo of the same girl, slightly older and looking more like a young Martha. Another, taken only a few years ago (if the lines of George’s face are a fair judge) of him and a curly-haired, preteen boy. The most recent was a family photo of George, Martha, the preteen, and the blond boy -- only now grown up and dressed in an army uniform. The blonde girl was missing from that one though. </p>
<p>
  <em> All of our family photos were destroyed in the hurricane. </em>
</p>
<p>Alex shuddered, trying to slow his breathing. Distractions weren’t working and he was a mess. </p>
<p>
  <em> Get your shit together before you go down. Let’s not have a complete meltdown on the first night. </em>
</p>
<p>It wasn’t that he was afraid to be alone with the Washington’s. Not necessarily. Catherine knew them personally and he trusts her judgement. Logically, there was no reason to be wary of them.<br/>
But ever since the Coopers … </p>
<p>He would always get anxious with new placements, but never this bad before. Alex felt out of his depth, struggling just to keep his head above water.</p>
<p>“Alexander!” Catherine called up, causing him to jump. “If you’re done, come down, please. I need to be on the road soon!”</p>
<p>Alex was trembling, gasping for breath. He caught a glimpse of himself in the dark mirror reflection. Thin face, cheek litter with greenie-yellow bruises. Eye wide and wild. </p>
<p>
  <em> Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, inspirer. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, expirer. </em>
</p>
<p>Eventually, Alex’s breathing slowed down enough to go down. He just had to keep it together, not embarrass himself, until he could escape to his room. </p>
<p>Midway down the stairs, he had to pause to catch his breath again (this time due to his ribs). Catherine had already pulled on her shoes, and was exchanging goodbyes with the Washingtons. When they saw him, they retreated to the kitchen. </p>
<p>Catherine locked eyes with Alex, offering a sad smile. Four years of his life. Four years in foster care with too many families -- too many new people -- to even begin counting. Yet, she was his one constant. The only person who was going to ride this out with him. But circumstances beyond either of their control was changing that, and, <em> God </em>, if that wasn’t the story of his life. </p>
<p>“Are you heading back now?” His voice sounded strange. Almost as if he wasn’t the one speaking. </p>
<p>“Have to. It’s getting late.”</p>
<p>“You gonna miss me?” It was supposed to come out self-assured, arrogant even. A call back to the quick-witted, wise-cracking loudmouth that he is supposed to be. But his voice breaks and facade crumbles, as does her steady expression. </p>
<p>“C’mere kiddo,” she opens her arms for him, holding him tight. “Of course I’m going to miss you.” </p>
<p>“I don’t want you to go.” He had said the same thing to his mother four years ago. It was too late then and it is too late now. </p>
<p>“I know, sweetheart,” Catherine’s calm murmur pushes him past his memories. “But you’ll be okay.”</p>
<p>
  <em> That’s never been true. No one leaving has ever brought anything good. </em>
</p>
<p>Still, he made a promise to himself to keep it together. Ignoring the shaken, water-logged feeling, Alex gives her a nod. </p>
<p>The Washington’s come back in. Alex wipes the few stray tears, ducking his head.</p>
<p>“Are you alright, son?” Mr. Washington asks, his strong hand coming to rest on Alex’s shoulder. Alex flinches away violently. </p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, Alexander. I didn’t mean --”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” he gasped, embarrassed and irritated by the whole thing. He never used to react this way, not before the Cooper’s. </p>
<p>“Are you sure, kiddo?” Catherine added looking concerned. “Do you want me to count your breath--”</p>
<p>“I said I’m fine!” They were all staring at him, pity evident. He was tethering on the edge of a meltdown. “Aren’t you leaving, anyways?” </p>
<p>The words were cruel and cutting. They stole attention from his previous distress, but Alex regretted them the moment they left his lips. The Washington’s fell silent. There was a flicker of shocked hurt on Catherine’s face, before calm replaced it.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I am,” she responded, remarkably patient. “Goodnight everyone. Bye, Alexander.”</p>
<p>She’d been out the door for five seconds. A full five seconds full of panic and guilt, when Alex ran after her. His lungs burned, but he caught her halfway to the car. </p>
<p>Alex all but fell into her arms, hugging her tight, hoping that it would convey his apology. It must have, because when they pull away, she gives him a smile and climbs into her car. Just like that she’s gone.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t know how long he stands in the driveway before he hears Martha calling him to come inside. </p>
<p>Oh god. He was so rude to them all a moment ago. Even if they seem nice, there’s no way they’re going to let that kind of behaviour slide. Panic returning, his mind flickers through hundreds of worst-case-scenarios, what-will-happen’s when he goes back in. The longer he keeps them waiting, the worse it’ll be. Purely on auto-pilot, he returns to the house. </p>
<p>They are both waiting for him in the foyer.</p>
<p>“It’s late, we should be heading to bed.” Martha says wearily. “I think everyone would benefit from a good night’s sleep.”</p>
<p>Too surprised to say anything, Alex slowly followed them up the stairs. </p>
<p>
  <em> They’re seriously not going to say anything? </em>
</p>
<p>George bid him goodnight, slipping into the master bedroom. Instead of following, Martha leads him to the bathroom. She gives him his next dose of prescription painkillers, before showing him where it is in the medicine cabinet. </p>
<p>“If you need anything during the night, George and I are right at the end of the hall. Feel free to wake us up.”</p>
<p>Alex knows he won’t, but he appreciates the sentiment. She bids him goodnight. Alex locks the door to his room behind him (there’s no way he’d be able to sleep without it). Exhaustion of the day weighing him down, he barely makes it to bed before falling asleep.<br/>
Despite being his first full night sleep in weeks, Alex wakes up groggy. His headache from last night is thankfully gone, but the rest of him is still achy. Alex didn’t know what time the Washington’s got up, but it must be mid-morning and surely they were up by now. Body protesting, he crawls out of bed, slowly making his way downstairs.</p>
<p>Alex heard the front door close and he looked up. His new foster brother dropped his bag and was kicking off his shoes. He was the curly haired boy from the photograph, only taller and older. His hair was longer, pulled back and he had a beard. He looked up, seeing Alex for the first time. Alex flushed, embarrassed realizing that he was still wearing this guy’s clothes. </p>
<p>The boy looked him over before grinning.</p>
<p>“You know,” he began, french accent thick with a teasing tone. “I don’t mind us sharing clothes, but I think you are going to have to grow a little bit if I’m to fit in any of your things.”</p>
<p>Alex laughed, relaxing slightly. “I’m assuming you’re Gilbert?”</p>
<p>“Ugh! <em> Non </em>. Only George and Martha call me that. For everyone else I’m Lafayette ou Laf.”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Alex said quickly.</p>
<p>“Oh! Don’t worry. And what do they call you?”</p>
<p>“<em> Je suis Alexander Hamilton, mais vous pouvez m'appeler Alex </em>.” Lafayette looked absolutely bewildered, and Alex grinned wickedly.</p>
<p>“<em> Quoi!?! Non! Sans blagues, tu parles français </em>?”</p>
<p>“<em> Oui. Je suis bilingual. Ma mère m’a appris. </em>” Alex felt a sharp pain in his chest, though not from his bruised ribs.</p>
<p>“Mon dieu. <sup> [ <a href="#note1"> 1 </a> ]</sup>” Lafayette exclaimed, unaware of Alex’s darkening mood. “How could Martha keep this from me? Maman!” He bounded into the kitchen, Alex trailing behind. “Why didn’t you tell me that Alex is fluent french?”</p>
<p>Martha, who was alone at the kitchen table typing, looked up at her son with amusement.</p>
<p>“Because I didn’t know.” She shut her laptop, and gave Alex a warm simile. “That’s quite impressive.”</p>
<p>Alex beamed at the praise. “I also speak Spanish. When I was living in St. Croix most people spoke either English or Spanish, but my mother grew up speaking creole french so I learned it from her. Of course, creole french isn’t the same as French French -- it’s basically a jargonized version of it. But a lot of the books we had were in French so I learned proper grammar that way. Still, I’m if I end up screwing it up. <sup> [ <a href="#note2"> 2 </a> ]</sup>”<em> Oh shit </em>, he’d been talking for way too long. Both Martha and Lafayette were giving him funny looks. </p>
<p>“I wouldn’t say <em> que le Francais de France est propre </em>,” Lafayette commented. “It’s a version of it, is all.”</p>
<p>“Why don’t you boys sit,” Martha directed. “I’ll make some breakfast. How was John’s last night, Gil?”</p>
<p>“Good. His dad’s in South Carolina right now, so we were watching his siblings. Is Papa working today?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, he left early this morning.” She turned to Alex. “Your new social worker came by this morning, but you were still asleep. I didn’t want to wake you and I’m sure you’ll be seeing plenty of her this week. She dropped off some more paperwork. I've been making doctor appointments, both a check-up as well as a follow up on your concussion. That’s this Friday. Also, I have your things washed, but I was thinking we should probably go back to school shopping in the next few days.”</p>
<p>Half asleep still trying to process, Alex just nodded.</p>
<p>“Alex can come shopping with me and my friends tomorrow,” Lafayette added. “Martha is dragging John out with her and the Schuyler sisters and he was asking if Herc and I could come.”</p>
<p>“That would be super helpful actually. I’ll do up a list for you boys.”</p>
<p>After breakfast Lafayette gave Alex a complete tour of the house. Highlights included a massive backyard/swimming pool, a basement that Laf and his friends allegedly have free rule over, and a massive library that doubled as Mr. Washington’s home office.</p>
<p>Lafayette himself seemed easy going. Talkative, slightly ridiculous and easily distracted, he jumped from topic to topic with any whim. Showing Alex a room would quickly become a ten minute story about something he and his friends did, often with no proper ending. Alex found he didn’t mind though. He missed company like this, the type that didn’t require any energy or effort. It reminded him of hanging around his older brother back home. </p>
<p>They ended up spending most of the afternoon sitting on the back deck together. Lafayette scrolled on his phone, occasionally pulling Alex away from the book to show him something or tell him another story. Around 6, Martha called them in for supper. </p>
<p>They were nearly finished eating when Mr. Washington walked in. Alex had been chatting with Lafayette about the upcoming school year (turns out Laf was a junior too) and immediately shut his mouth. Mr. Cooper had always been in a bad mood coming home from work. He’d march in rearing for a fight, someone to take his frustration out on. Alex’s constant talking was an easy target. Even once he stopped talking around him, Mr. Cooper would still find something wrong with him.</p>
<p>Mr. Washington, tired with worry lines on his forehead, sat down and smiled at them all. </p>
<p>“Dinner smells great.” </p>
<p>Alex kept his head down. Just focus on eating and get out of there. Not long, Laf got up from the table and Alex moved to follow. </p>
<p>“Alexander,” Mrs. Washington said gently. “Can you stay here for a second? George and I want to talk to you.”</p>
<p>Trying not to shake, Alex sat back down. </p>
<p>“Can you give us a moment Gil?” </p>
<p>Lafayette shot his mother a look before giving Alex an encouraging smile and leaving. </p>
<p>“Sorry about leaving you and Gilbert to your own devices today.” Martha began. “George was at work, I was trying to get our fostering license renewed since you’re here, and it ended up taking up most of my day.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t a problem,” Alex mumbled. </p>
<p>“So,” Mr. Washington carried on, putting down his fork, “we just wanted to have a quick chat about the next couple weeks as well as expectations for while you’re living with us. Okay, son?”</p>
<p><em> Here we go </em>. Alex could remember his first home. Sitting on some stranger’s couch, only hours after his cousin’s suicide and being read a list of 20+ rules he suddenly had to follow. Still, being given rules was a lot better than the times where the families pretended to be nonchalant about them only to lose their shit over something he didn’t know about in the first place.</p>
<p>“In our family,” Martha started, “everything comes back to respect and communication. We are here to help you. But in order for us to do that, we need to know what’s going in your life and where you are at. We will respect your boundaries and privacy, but you need to be honest with us.”</p>
<p>“And,” Mr Washington added, “if there is anything going on in your life -- mental health wise, addiction, bullying, whatever, anything that you are struggling with -- let us know and we will get you the help you need. Understand?”</p>
<p>“Yes sir,” Alex replied.</p>
<p>“You don’t need to call me sir, Alexander. George is fine.”</p>
<p>“Okay. It’s just Alex, by the way.” </p>
<p>George gave him a smile.</p>
<p>They gave Alex the overview of the upcoming week leading up to school, packed full of appointments and social worker visits. Wary and already weary of the next few days, he asked if he could be excused. He quickly left the dining room, only to almost walk straight into Lafayette.</p>
<p>Turns out he was waiting for him outside the door. </p>
<p>“Ça va?” He asked, trying to sound casual despite clearly having listened to the entire conversation.</p>
<p>“Yeah, just tired.” Alex responded, mildly annoyed. Laf sensing his this, backed off, switching topics.</p>
<p>“Do you want to go play video games?”</p>
<p>Regardless of Lafayette’s total invasion of privacy, he didn’t really want to be alone right now. From what he could tell thus far, the Washington parents seemed nice. But actually being around them, especially George, was anxiety inducing. Being around Laf felt easy. </p>
<p>“Sure.” </p>
<p>Video games weren’t such a great idea, after all. Two laps into Coconut Mall and Alex had a splitting headache. Maybe the doctor was right, when they told him he needed to wait ten days before reintroducing screens. Concussions fucking suck. </p>
<p>Instead Alex just laid on the couch listening to the music and Laf shouting at the TV. </p>
<p>“This is cool,” Lafayette commented softly after a while, “It’s nice having someone to play video games with again.”</p>
<p>Alex snorted. “I wouldn’t really say I’m playing them with you.”</p>
<p>“You know what I mean. It’s nice having a brother.” </p>
<p>There was something in his tone, both wistful and a little sad that made Alex have to ask.</p>
<p>“Do you have any siblings?” <em> Did you? </em></p>
<p>“Biologically no.” Lafayette paused the game. “My father died when I was very young, and my mother was always sick. I can’t say that I knew them. When I was ten, I came to America to live with George and Martha. Martha had two kids, John and Patsy with her first husband but he died in a car crash and George is -- was -- pretty much their dad <sup> [ <a href="#note3"> 3 </a> ]</sup>. Patsy died about a few years before I arrived. Epilepsy, I think. Martha doesn’t really talk about it.” Lafayette took a deep breath. “I didn’t know John super well. He was away for school and then joined the army so I never really got to see him. But he was always nice to me. He was killed in Iraq.”</p>
<p>
  <em> What can you even say to that. </em>
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. That really sucks.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Lafayette cleared his throat. “What about you? Any siblings?”</p>
<p>Alex didn’t answer immediately. When he finally spoke, it actually caused Laf to jump.</p>
<p>“I have an older brother, James. I don’t know what happened to him.” <em> I'm pretty sure he’s dead </em>. Not that Alex would ever say it outloud. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, too.” After a moment he added: “For what it’s worth, I'm glad you’re here and I have you as a brother now.”</p>
<p>Alex surprised himself by not protesting the label. </p>
<p>“Yeah. Me too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Footnotes:<br/><a id="%E2%80%9Cnote1%E2%80%9D" name="%E2%80%9Cnote1%E2%80%9D"></a><sup>1</sup><br/>Translation for Alex's and Laf's conversation is:<br/>"I'm Alexander Hamilton, but you can call me Alex."<br/>"What!?! No! No way, you speak french." (technecally not a direct translation but intent wise it is)<br/>"Yeah. I'm bilingual. My mom taught me."<br/>"My god."</p>
<p><a id="%E2%80%9Cnote2%E2%80%9D" name="%E2%80%9Cnote2%E2%80%9D"></a><sup>2</sup> <br/>In this fic, Alex is from St. Croix, not Nevis. Historically he lived in both, but it wouldn't make sense for modern day with boarder's and immigration so I picked St. Croix. St. Croix being a US Virgin island makes Alex a US citizen. Also since all of the character are (somewhat) based on the actors from the OBC, a lin-based Alex being from St. Croix works better than Nevis. 30s, 40s, and 50s there was a wave of immigrants to St. Croix from Puerto Rico (Alex would therefore be a third gen immigrant).<br/>As for the whole language thing, french-based creole’s most prominent form would be (in modern day) Haitian creole. It would make no sense for Alex’s mom to speak france french as (in this story anyway) she would be descendants from Puerto Rican and African slaves in Haiti that immigrated. This accounts for Alex speaking both French and Spanish.<br/>I do not think that creole french is a lesser version of French, but Alex's dismissal of it is both intentional and in character. Alexander Hamilton was, historically, pretty ashamed of where he was from. I think my version of Alex, would (to a lesser extent) be too. He is growing up in a country that looks (in generally) down on immigrants, different languages, has rampant class and race problems. That is also why he said “when I was living in St. Croix” outloud but refers to it as his home later in his head. He's used to dismissing St. Croix for the benefit of whatever white, privileged person in power of his life.</p>
<p><a id="%E2%80%9Cnote3%E2%80%9D" name="%E2%80%9Cnote3%E2%80%9D"></a><sup>3</sup> <br/>Martha Washington's first husband did die in a car crash obviously. But my grandmother's first husband did and my grandfather adopted her child from her first marriage (my uncle) just like George Washington did for Martha's children. </p>
<p>Authors Note:</p>
<p>I hoped you liked it! There was a lot of effort put in to making it work so please leave a comment letting me know what you think. </p>
<p>Also if any of you speak any Spanish and want to help with some translations later in the story, let me know in the comments. I speak 6 years of French immersion but 0 Spanish and as much as I want to included it, I won't be doing so if I'm solely relying on google translate. </p>
<p>Next Chapter: Trip to the mall. We finally get to meet the completed Rev. Set as well as some Schuyler Sisters.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Do I have a paper due tomorrow? Yes. Did I edit this instead? Yes. Is university stressful? YES.</p><p>Seriously though, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I'm still figuring my writing style out so I apologies for any clumping chapters or awkward dialogue. I'm still learning :)</p><p><b>Trigger Warning:</b> the opening of this chapter (about the first 9 paragraphs) does detail a panic attack, reference both child abuse and suicide (both those being slightly graphic) so please skip it if you are going to be triggered. The summary is Alex wakes up from a nightmare and has a panic attack and there is reference to a similar incident at a previous foster home. This fic in general does come with the trigger warning of abuse, trauma, and referenced suicide (more later on) so please read the tags. I will try to include trigger warnings were I can.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex woke in a cold sweat. Tremors shook his frame and his teeth chattered. </p><p>Gnawing in his stomach, Alex sprung out of bed, too tightly wound to stay still. He paced the floors, trying to calm down. The panic attack had already settled in his body. In his lungs, in his bones; like a thick layer of dust in a lonely room. Choking on it, gasping for air, he sank to the floor. </p><p>Moments or minutes later the panic evaporated, leaving a cavity in his chest. There was a hollow ringing in his ears, and Alex felt as though he was floating away from his body. Slowly but surely, his senses returned, along the crushing groundedness of post-panic attack. </p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>Alex took in his surroundings. He was on the floor, leaning against the bed. Pale light streamed in through the cracks in the blinds, casting the room in a hazy violet. Outside, mourning doves cooed softly. </p><p>He couldn’t remember the nightmare that brought on the panic attack. It didn’t matter. He had always been prone to anxiety, even as a child. But the increase in nightmares and the past few years in general had made it so much worse. His mother and Peter’s death, being put in foster care, everything that came with it. </p><p>
  <em>God. Tell me I didn’t wake anyone up. </em>
</p><p>It had happened before, in other homes. Response varied: pity, indifference, annoyance, and, at times, absolute fury. The first time at the Cooper’s was, by far, the most severe. </p><p>It had been in the dead of winter in New York City. His previous family had terrible insulation, so he’d shown up to the Cooper’s with a wicked head cold. The first night there he had a fever induced night terror. He dreamt of his mom, only she was blue-faced, hanging by a rope around her neck, just how he found Peter. Alex had woken up screaming and sobbing hysterically. His screams woke up Mr. Cooper, who took a belt to him until Alex’s blind-panicked screaming turned real, painful, and concrete. Alex had been so shocked by the whole incident that it took days to work up the nerve to phone DCFS and talk to Catherine’s replacement. She didn’t believe him. When word got back to the Cooper’s their reactions were infinitely worse. </p><p>He had since gotten better at muffling his cries. Still, there were times where Alex would stay up for days on end just so he could be sure he would sleep through the night. Both to avoid the nightmares themselves and the consequences of having them. </p><p>Alex shuddered. He needs to get out of his room, to find a distraction. Alex had returned the book he borrowed from Mr. Washington’s library before the man got home yesterday. Lafayette told Alex he could borrow them anytime but he still couldn’t trust that fact. Not yet. Though it was still fairly early. Perhaps he could sneak downstairs and read another chapter before anyone got up. </p><p>Resolved, Alex crept downstairs and into George’s office to fetch the book off the shelf. Victorious, he made his way into the kitchen/living room to read. </p><p>Alex stopped dead in his tracks. From the doorway he could see George sitting at the island, nursing a cup of coffee. George looked up and smiled at him. </p><p>“Good morning, Alex.”</p><p>Alex didn’t move. </p><p>“Morning.”</p><p>“I’m sorry if I woke you. Martha’s always saying I need to be more quiet when I’m getting up.”</p><p>“It’s fine. I was awake already,” Alex responded, still frozen. </p><p>“Ah,” he took a sip. “Early riser?”</p><p>Not really. Not by choice. Alex would love to sleep in, but the combination of nightmares and overwhelming anxiety about wasting his life by not being productive had him up early, or not going to sleep to begin with. </p><p>Alex just shrugged. </p><p>“I’m not much of one myself, but I need to be up to commute to work. Coffee definitely helps.” George guestered to the pot on the counter. “Help yourself if you want some.”</p><p>Unable to find any excuse to walk away (and really tempted by coffee), Alex went to pour himself a cup, gently setting the book down next to it. With any luck George wouldn’t notice. </p><p>“What are you reading, son?”</p><p>
  <em>Damnit. </em>
</p><p>Horrified, Alex started stumbling through his rapid explanations. Laf had said he could borrow it, but he should have asked Mr. Washington first and he was really sorry for disrespecting his authority and --</p><p>“It’s not a problem, son.” George cut in gently. “I was just curious as to what book you're reading.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p><p>Sheepishly, Alex held up the thick text so George could read the title. </p><p>“Catherine mentioned you were into politics,” George chuckled. “That’s a good read. Not exactly light, though. Politics is my entire career, but I must admit, when I come home each night the only thing you’ll catch me reading is Martha’s trashy romance novels.”</p><p><em>Politics is my entire career</em>, Alex echoed, things suddenly clicking into place.</p><p>“Oh shit! You’re a Senator. Senator George Washington, right?”</p><p><em>Of course he is</em>, Alex berated himself. <em>Stupid not to realise sooner.</em></p><p>“That’s me,” George laughed, taken aback. “I’m impressed. Not many kids your age would have made that connection.”</p><p>“I don’t know why I didn’t realize earlier,” Alex said, spurred on by the praise, previous worries forgotten. “I watched hours of you filibustering the immigration bill the Republican’s trying to pass last fall. I can’t tell you how much that meant to people I knew back in New York.”</p><p>And they were off. They chatted for close to an hour. George listened intently to Alex’s ramblings, happily interjecting his opinion and answering questions. After several refilled coffee cups, Martha came downstairs.</p><p>“George,” She called, pulling on her bathrobe as she came into the kitchen. “I thought you were working today. Why are you still home?”</p><p>George looked at his watch, eyes widening comedically. Martha couldn’t help but laugh.</p><p>“Damn! I lost track of time.” He got up, scrambling to collect his things. “Thanks, dear! Alex, we’ll finish our conversation later, alright son? Both of you have a good day!”</p><p>Just like that, he was out the door. Martha turned to Alex, still smiling at her husband’s foolishness.</p><p>“Catherine warned me you two would have a lot in common. Now, how about something a little more solid than coffee?” </p>
<hr/><p>“<em>Est-tu prêt?</em>”</p><p>Alex looked up from his book to find a rather hyper Laf in front of him. He was dressed for the day, meanwhile Alex was still in his ratty hoodie and pj pants. </p><p>“<em>Pour quoi</em>?”</p><p>Lafayette sighed dramatically, snatching the book from Alex. </p><p>“For shopping. Remember? John’s picking us up in ten!”</p><p>Alex had completely forgotten. Luckily it didn’t take long to put on deodorant, jeans, and pull his hair into a bun.</p><p>“At least change the hoodie,” Laf groaned.</p><p>“Hey! I love this hoodie.” It was a grey Columbia College he’d found in the lost and found, right after being placed in foster care. </p><p>“Grey is not your colour," he teased. "It's not even <em>a</em> colour. You know it’s like a hundred degrees out, right? You’re actually going to die.”</p><p>Alex shrugged. He was more comfortable in the hoodie than anything else he owned. Besides, there was no way he was wearing a t-shirt in public right now. It’s one thing for social workers, the Washington’s, even Lafayette to see the evidence of abuse littering his body. Alex really wasn’t in the mood to broadcast it to the rest of the word. The yellowing bruise on his face would draw enough attention. </p><p>“I’ll be fine. The heat doesn’t bother me anyway.”</p><p>“Okay, inverse-Elsa,” Laf quipped. “<em>Oh! John est içi.</em>”</p><p>Outside in the sweltering humidity, there was a black BMW convertible in the driveway. The top was down and the music was pumping. The teen in the driver’s seat was glaring down at his phone, but he glanced up as they approached. His freckled face broke into a grin and he turned down the music.</p><p>“Hey!” He called. “Laf, man! You won’t believe the fucking day I’m having.”</p><p>“<em>Mon dieu</em>. Already?” Lafayette laughed, climbing into the passenger’s seat. “John this is Alexander Hamilton. Alex, John Laurens.”</p><p>John was shorter than Lafayette, but built like an athlete. He was latino, covered in freckles, and had long hair pulled back in a bun like Alex’s, only his hair was curly.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you,” John said, a southern accent appearing with the southern hospitality.</p><p>“You too,” Alex responded, sliding into the back seat.</p><p>John’s gaze lingered for a moment before he started the engine, turning to face Laf. They pulled out of the driveway and they were on their way. </p><p>“So I get a call from my father this morning,” John started, his annoyance evident. “And he tells me that he’s going to stay in South Carolina for another two fucking weeks.”</p><p>“You’re joking,” Laf deadpans.</p><p>“I wish. It’s because the midterms are coming up and he ‘needs to secure his seat,’ not that he really needs to cause his district is pretty much guaranteed Republican and he’s already won his primary. But it means he’s gone for the first week of school so now I’m responsible for the kids and all their back-to-school shopping, and getting them on the bus and daycare drop off, which I don’t know how that’s going to work around my practice schedule. Of course when I try to explain that to him I’m being ‘disrespectful’ and need to ‘check my attitude.’”</p><p>“That’s <em>stupide</em>. Any chance he’ll hire a new nanny to help?”</p><p>“Well he’s fired the last three for ridiculous reasons so who even knows! I don’t mind helping out, but you know the moment it interferes with my grades or sports then <em>I’m</em> the one who needs to pick it up and prioritize better. And just wait till we pick up Herc, then I can tell you ‘bout all the shit going on with football. I’m so over this year already.”</p><p>“It can’t be any worse than the last two years,” Laf offered his friend, trying to comfort him.</p><p>A rueful smile appeared on John’s face.</p><p>“Well the bar is pretty low.”</p><p>There was a lull in the conversation. Alex was half in mind to ask what they were talking about, but to do so would definitely pry. </p><p>“Who’s Herc?” Alex asked instead, switching the subject.</p><p>There was a pregnant pause. “Hercules is our friend and my boyfriend,” Laf replied, seemingly nonchalant. John’s eyes flashed to meet Alex’s in the rearview mirror, daring him to make an ignorant comment.</p><p>“Okay, cool.” Alex said, watching the tension leak from their shoulders. Sexuality was a non-issue for him. He’d lived with a lot of other foster kids over the past few years, many with varying orientations. Alex knew that he was attracted to both girls and guys. But he also knew the dangers of existing outside the status-quo.</p><p>Hercules lived in an apartment complex outside near the high school. Once there, Laf crawled into the back so he could sit with him and Alex moved up front with John. Hercules Mulligan was tall and broad, with dark skin, and an aura that absolutely oozed cool. Alex was initially intimidated, but Herc shot a winning smile at him and walked over to his side of the car first. </p><p>“Hey, you must be Alex. I’m Hercules.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Alex responded. “Nice to meet you.”</p><p>“You too.” Herc jumped in the back and they headed to the mall.</p><p>Once they arrived, there were three girls waiting for them outside the doors. The boys introduced them to Alex. First, was John’s girlfriend Martha Manning. She’s a senior, a cheerleader, and had a very “All American Girl” look that gave Alex popular girl energy. Then there was “two-thirds of the Schuyler sisters” (as Laf put it). The younger sister, Peggy, was a freshman and Eliza was a junior like Alex.</p><p>“Is your older sister coming?” Herc asked Eliza, who shook her head. </p><p>“Angelica told me she was going to Thomas Jefferson’s place for a council exec meeting,” she replied. </p><p>Peggy snorted. “Yeah, right. ‘Exec meeting.’”</p><p>The group all turned to the younger girl in shock. Alex struggled to not outright laugh at their expressions. </p><p>“What!” Laf exclaimed. “They’re not together, are they?!?”</p><p>“I think so,” Peggy commented slyly. “They’ve been ‘talking.’” </p><p>There was a groan throughout the group.</p><p>“Who’s this?” Alex asked.</p><p>“Our friend, Angelica is apparently with Thomas Jefferson,” John supplied. “World-class, self-aggrandizing jackass. I swear, if we have to hangout with Jefferson anymore than we did last year I’m just going to end it all.”</p><p>“Hey!” Laf protested. “Thomas and I are friends.”</p><p>John rolled his eyes. “And your tastes are questionable at best. No offence, Herc.” </p><p>“Can you two please stop bickering,” Eliza interjected. </p><p>“Yeah,” Martha Manning added. “Who Angelica is or isn’t seeing isn’t anyone’s business. Come on, we have clothes to buy.”</p><p>They quickly decided to split up to go to different stores. The girls claimed Herc, as apparently he was a fashion expert. This left John, Laf, and Alex to their own devices. Before they left, Martha had given them a list of clothing that Alex needed and Lafayette was on a mission. </p><p>Alex had never gone clothes shopping in his life. Most of his things were given to him second hand, or were picked up at Walmart by various foster-parents or social workers. He was a master at wearing ill-fitted jeans and plain t-shirts. Not knowing where to start, Alex followed Laf, allowing him to piled his arms with clothes to try on. The pile was reaching an alarming height when John finally stepped in, suggesting that Alex should try on what he has already. Alex was more than happy to slip into the changing room. </p><p>Starting with pants, Alex quickly realized that they weren’t going to be styled to fit him. He was too thin and too short that even the tailored jeans hung off him. Frustrated, he moved on to shirts. Even worse, Alex realized how difficult trying them on would be. Lifting his arms was utter agony for his ribs. <em>Maybe I don’t have to try them all on</em>, he thought, checking the price tag. His stomach dropped. Thirty dollars for a fucking t-shirt. </p><p>His breathing picked up, the entire situation weighing on him. It was almost amazing how close he constantly was to a breakdown these days. </p><p>
  <em>Jesus, you can’t even handle going to a fucking mall. Pathetic.</em>
</p><p>There was a knock on the changing room door and John’s voice cut through the fog in his brain. </p><p>“Hey man, you okay? You’ve been in here a while.”</p><p>On impulse, Alex unlocked the changing room door and pulled John in. John’s eyes went wide, taking in a clearly panicked Alex with his hoodie still only half on. His eyes lingered on the bruising before schooling his face into a more neutral expression. </p><p>“What’s up?” he asked calmly. </p><p>“I--” Alex choked out. “Nothing fucking fits and I can’t try half of it on cause my ribs fucking hurt. I was thinking maybe I could just buy stuff and hope it works, but everything is so goddamn expensive and I’d be wasting George and Martha money. But they also said I need new stuff and they’ll be annoyed if I come back with nothing.” And now he’s half-dressed in front of some guy he met an hour ago, having a breakdown over clothes shopping. Fuck, he’s a mess. </p><p>“Okay. Take a deep breath.” John leaned back, thinking for a moment. “First of all, we’re going to go to more stores after this, so if stuff here doesn’t work that’s fine. There are other places. Secondly, you don’t have to try on everything Laf picks out for you. Like that shirt there." John guestered to a brightly pattern shirt on the top of the pile. "It's hideous. We both know you're not going to buy it." That got Alex to laugh. John shot him a smile before continuing in. "If trying stuff on is hurting you, we just need to figure out your size then we’re good. We’re around the same size, so if something fits me I’ll definitely work for you. Thirdly, you don’t need to worry about the price. The Washington’s have a shit ton of money, they’ll be fine. And honestly, they’re not going to be mad even if you don’t find anything. I’ve known them for years now, and they are the best fucking people I know.”</p><p>“You sure?”  </p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p>Together, they sorted through the pile Laf had given him, eventually deciding on a few shirts that Alex liked. Laf grumbled that it wasn’t much, but John reminded him that there were plenty of other stores to go in.</p>
<hr/><p>Many stores later, with arms full of shopping bags, the group finally meet up again. It was nearing supper time, and they were all starving. </p><p>“Yo guys,” Herc said, as they were walking to the cars. “We should go to Johnny’s.”</p><p>There was a chorus of agreement throughout the group, with the exception of John who commented that it was in the opposite direction. </p><p>“Babe, it’s like five minutes out of the way,” Martha said, rolling her eyes.</p><p>“And I’m guessing Alex hasn’t been yet,” Eliza added, before turning to him directly. “If you’re going to be friends with us, we have to take you to Johnny’s. It’s a tradition.”</p><p>Alex grinned.</p><p>“Fine,” John sighed, but he was smirking. “Not like we were there three nights ago or anything.”</p><p>Johnny’s was a fifties style diner just outside of town. All seven of them crowded into a booth and ordered a round of milkshakes and burgers. Despite only being a Wednesday, the place was packed and very loud. Alex was on the end next to Eliza. The group carried on, talking and laughing. Eliza helpfully filling him in on their conversation and giving him context to their stories. The attention was off him, and he found himself relaxing. </p><p>Halfway through dinner, he and Eliza were chatting about school and favourite classes. Suddenly, she looked at him very still. </p><p>“You have very pretty eyes, Alexander,” she said, turning to the group. “Doesn’t he?”</p><p>They all turned to him. Alex felt himself flush at their attention.</p><p>“I noticed that on the first day,” Laf said. “They’re bright eyes of an intellectual. There’s a spark there. You can tell you’re a fighter.” </p><p>“If you’re finished waxing poetry about Alex’s eyes, your boyfriend is right here,” Herc joked good naturedly. The group laughed. </p><p>“<em> Desolué, mon amour,</em>” Laf grinned, giving Herc a peck on the check. “You can’t fault the poet in me. I am French after all.”</p><p>There was a collective eye roll. </p><p>“Eliza is right, though.” John said. “Alex does have nice eyes.” </p><p>There was a hum of agreement. Alex, slightly embarrassed, mumbled a thanks. </p><p>The conversation went back to whatever it was before. Alex looked down at his plate. <em>I like it here. Everyone’s nice.</em> It was a dangerous thought. One thing he learned in the past few years was not to get too comfortable in one place, because odds are he’d be gone in a couple of months. But he's been in Virginia for two days and he was already getting comfortable with being here. </p><p>Eliza felt him go stiff. “Are you alright?” she whispered.</p><p>Alex looked at her. She had a beautiful, kind face that was molded by genuine concern. She was far too pretty to look so worried. He forced himself to relax. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m good.” </p><p>There would be time to worry later. For now, he was just going to enjoy the evening.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm foregoing linked footnotes as there weren't working, but here are my writing notes on this chapter:<br/>- Angelica and Thomas's 'exec meeting' situation is a reference to their historical relationship. The real Angelica Schuyler Church was in contact with a number of influential figures of the time, including a flirtatious corospondance with Thomas Jefferson. Don't worry to anyone who doesn't ship them as it is not going to be a staple in this fic. I just thought it was a fun nod. (Side point: exec meeting is a reference to their involvement in student council. At my school the exec is the group leading counsil -- President, VP, Secretary, Treasurer etc. I just wasn't sure what other name to call it.)<br/>- Alexander's eyes: I was always confused by the musical constantly referencing Hamilton's eyes until I read Chernow's biography. The historical Hamilton apparently had bright red hair and violet blue eyes. I thought that was kind of cool so I decided to add it in, both as a homage to the musical and the real life person. As I said I'm my authors note for chapter 2, the characters in this are all losely based on their broadway actors in apparence and heritage. I've always imagine my version of Alex as a mix between real life Hamilton and Lin, so half-Puerto Rican (Hamilton's father was Scottish) with blue eyes and a small build (Hamilton was decribed as very petit, almost feminine).<br/>- This will be a Lams fic but I do love Eliza. I'm hoping to find a way to incorperate her's and Alex's relationship in this story but I'm still not sure how that's going to look.</p><p>All in all, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It turned out heavier than I intially planned, but I am a very socially political person so there will be a lot of contemperary social issues popping up in this fic. It's just who I am creatively, so I hope you all enjoy the angst that comes with it. As usual leave a comment, I'd love to know your thoughts. </p><p>Next chapter's a fun one: Jefferson's end of summer party and all the drama that comes with it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jefferson's Party</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here it is! Finally.</p><p>Sorry guys. My upload schedule really went out the window once uni started. When you're writing papers every week, writing for fun becomes less enjoyable and I love this work so I don't want it to ever become a chore.</p><p>On the bright side, this chapter is longer than the usual ones so enjoy!</p><p><b>TW:</b> homophobia/homophobic language, brief allusions to anxiety disorders and issues in Child Services (the usual)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next few days were a blur. </p><p>Martha Washington was working round the clock to ensure that all the foster care paperwork was in order. Additionally, she was the one taking Alex to various hospital appointments instead of handing him off to a social worker like previous foster parents had. It was unnecessary of her, but Alex appreciated her concern for his well being. </p><p>Unfortunately for Alex, Martha brought him to see a child-psychiatrist at his new social worker’s recommendation (despite the fact that he still hadn’t met the women). Alex had been to these appointments before, basically anytime a case-worker flagged an incident as being potentially traumatic. </p><p>(Martha had explained that his case-worker felt that his move from the only place he’d lived in the past 4 years and separation from everyone he knew could stir up some emotional turmoil from him. Alex barely resisted in responding with <em>yeah, no shit.</em>)</p><p>His very first mental-health assessment had been right after Peter’s suicide, when Alex had been thrusted into the system. He had started having panic attacks and his foster parents at the time were growing concerned. They’d taken him to a shrink, and Alex had practically barred his soul to her. It was a good thing, she had assured him when he was done divulging. The more about his history they could document, the better access to resources and support CPS could provide. But the consequences of having his history document in his case file, far outweighed the negatives. Sure, anti-anxiety meds were fantastic, but it meant that his first “permanent” foster family gave him up. He was too much work. No one wants a teenager, certainly not one with such an extensive history of trauma and tragedy as him. </p><p>So Alex avoided saying much in his appointment, not that it mattered much. With exception of the most recent incidents at the Cooper’s, the previous psychiatrist had already had everything written down for the one to see. At the end of the appointment, she recommended him regular counselling. Thankfully, Martha seemed unfazed.</p><p>There were a lot of positives about living in Virginia. He was around people who so far didn’t have a problem with him. It was easy to keep busy during the day, whether he was hanging out with Lafayette and his friends, or spending hours reading books from George’s massive collection. But it’s easy to convince yourself you're fine when you're keeping busy.  </p><p>It was Sunday afternoon. Alex was reading when Laf barged into his room and plopped down on his bed. </p><p>“May I help you?” Alex asked, not looking up from his book. </p><p>“Actually, yes.” Laf snatched the book from him. Ignoring Alex’s protest he carried on. “Herc texted me to ask to check that you had an outfit planned for tonight. And since, I’m assuming, you don’t, I have to bring him options to make sure you’re dressed nicely for once. You’re not allowed to wear that gray monstrosity.”</p><p>“Both you and Herc can fuck off about my Columbia hoodie,” Alex rolled his eyes. “Why do I need to be dressed nicely to play video games in John’s basement?”</p><p>“<em>Merde!</em>” Laf exclaimed, nearly falling off the bed. “We’re going to a party tonight. DidI not tell you?”</p><p>“Clearly not,” Alex laughed. “Who’s party?”</p><p>“Thomas Jefferson’s.” Noticing Alex’s blank expression, he adds, “You know: my friend you haven’t met yet. The one who’s probably sleeping with Eliza’s older sister.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. He’s the guy that John doesn’t like, right?”</p><p>“<em>John est tres opiniatres,</em>” Lafayette commented, wrinkling his nose. “John and Herc went to high school the year before me and Thomas became a close friend. Promise me you’ll give him a chance.”</p><p>“Sure, but if he’s a dick I’m not responsible for my actions.”</p><p>Laf just laughed. </p><p>“Before I forget, George and Martha <em>do</em> think we’re just going to so don’t mention it to them.”</p><p>That gave Alex pause. “Will we get in shit if they find out?”</p><p>Lafayette shrugged. “They’re normally fine with me going to Thomas’s parties. But when I brought it up with Dad, he wasn’t keen on you going.” Seeing Alex’s hurt expression, he rushed on. “Not because of anything you’ve done! Dad thinks you’re great. It’s just that you’re a ward of the state, and since you’re not technically their kid they can’t really let you go to a party where people are underaged drinking, you know.”</p><p>Though his past foster parents hadn’t given a shit, it was a fair point. Despite his annoyance at the forced double standard, Alex could help but to feel touched. </p><p>“They won’t,” Laf reassured. “And if they do I’ll take the blame. Say that I didn’t tell you it was a party and forced you to come along.”</p><p>“Well that is sorta true,” Alex joked. “You sure?” He didn’t want to be the one to cause a riff between Laf and his parents. </p><p>“<em>Absolument.</em>” Lafayette walked over to Alex’s closet and started sorting through it. “I can’t let you miss out on all the fun.”</p><p> </p><p>After dinner, George dropped them off at John’s house. The younger Laurens siblings were at their aunt’s house for the night, and Thomas’ place was only a few blocks away so they could easily walk back after. </p><p>Hercules Mulligan opened the front door before they even got up the front steps.</p><p>“Thank god you’re here,” he exclaimed, pressing a quick kiss on Laf’s cheek before pulling them inside. “John’s already broken into his dad’s liquor cabinet.” He and Laf exchanged a dark look.</p><p>“Pregaming early I guess,” Laf commented, an unusual bite to his voice. “I thought he was just smoking tonight. He shouldn’t be drinking on his meds.”</p><p>“Coach finally made up his mind,” Herc explained in a hushed voice. “He made Charles Lee starting quarter-back over John.”</p><p>“Shit,” Alex swore. </p><p>“Yeah … John just found out a few hours ago.”</p><p>They had all been anxiously awaiting the football coaches’ pick for the past few days. The position was supposed to be John’s (as Laf had briefly explained), but Charles Lee’s dad was the new assistant coach. </p><p>The boys followed Hercules into the living room. John was slouched in a chair, a glass of amber liquor in his hand. He took his eyes off the TV for a sec to give them a nod, before turning back and taking a sip.<br/>
“You know you shouldn’t be drinking,” Lafayette glowered at Laurens, angriest Alex had ever seen him.</p><p>“What’s it matter,” John shot back. “I’m already fucking depressed. A couple of drinks won’t make a difference. Besides, I’d rather not be sober right now.”</p><p>“Then you can smoke like you always do,” Lafayette responded, sternly. “But drinking is only going to make you feel worse. It’s stupid and self-sabatorging and you know better.”</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“C’mon man,” Herc cut in. “We’ve known you long enough and were not putting up with your shit.” </p><p>Alex watched as John surveyed his friends, before sighing. He went into the kitchen, poured out the rest of his drink and then returned to his seat.</p><p>“I am sorry about the football thing,” Laf offered, breaking the silence. “That really does suck.”</p><p>“It is what it is,”John shrugged. “I don’t care. Dad’s the one that’s going to be pissed about it.”</p><p>That was the thing. John never seemed to like football that much. Each time it came up, the conversation always circled back to how his dad was making him play.</p><p>“C’mon Ham,” Herc said, guestering to the bathroom down the hall. “Let’s see what clothes Laf brought for you.”</p><p>“I didn’t know that John was depressed,” Alex commented, once they were alone.</p><p>“He’s been dealing with it for a couple years now,” Herc vaguely responded. “He doesn’t talk ‘bout it much.”</p><p>“Will he be alright though?”</p><p>“Yeah. For the most part he seems to be doing alright. He’s just bummed out by the whole football thing.”<br/>
Unlike John, Herc desperately wanted to play football again. Laf had told Alex that Herc’s ma lost her job that summer, and Herc had to pick up an extra job to help out, meaning he didn’t have the time to play in his senior year. Being good-natured as he is, Alex had never heard Herc complain about it. Still, he could see the jealousy on Herc’s face whenever John complains about practice. </p><p>Several outfits later, Alex was dressed to approval of both Herc and Laf. They left John’s house and walked to Thomas’. Like the Washington’s home, his house was set far back on the property. The driveway was already lined with cars.</p><p>Inside the music was pumping and the party was already in full swing. Thomas Jefferson came to greet them. He was taller than Laf but shorter than Herc, with a corkscrew afro and a smug grin. Jefferson greeted the group -- giving Laf a quick hug -- before turning to Alex. He sized him up with an amused smirk. </p><p>“I’m Alex,” he said testily, sticking out his hand. “Alexander Hamilton.”</p><p>“I know,” Jefferson responded, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet ya.”</p><p>He had a southern accent, far thicker than John’s. The drawl came across more obnoxious than charming.</p><p>“You’re living with Gilbert, right?” </p><p>“That’s right,” he replied, somewhat cooly. This guy calling Lafayette <em>Gilbert</em> irked Alex. Yet, Jefferson’s languid expression remained unchanged. </p><p>“That’s very nice of them.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alex snapped.</p><p>“Uh … nothing?” Jefferson replied, but his amusement only grew. “It is nice of them. They are very kind people.” He turned to Laf. “Is he always this hot headed?”</p><p>Lafayette just chuckled, either willingly ignoring or oblivious to the tension between them.</p><p>“<em>Notre petit lion</em> can be a little headstrong at times,” he joked fondly. Jefferson grinned like a cheshire cat and Alex had to resist baring his teeth in response. </p><p>“<em>Viens, mon ami.</em> Let’s get drinks.” Jefferson ushered Laf into the kitchen, leaving the rest of the behind.</p><p>“Well he’s a dick,” Alex declared, spending both Herc and John into peals of laughter. </p><p>“Yep,” John snickered.</p><p>“He’s a friend of Laf’s,” Herc admitted. “We need to be decent to him.”</p><p>“Not a ‘friend of Laf’s,’” John quipped. “He’s a friend of <em>Gilbert’s.</em>”</p><p>“God,” Herc sighed, ignoring Alex and John’s giggling. “Let’s get some drinks and find the Schuyler’s. Angelica texted me that they’re already here.”</p><p>They grabbed their drinks and headed downstairs. The walkout basement was packed, and the crowd was spilling out onto the back patio. They found Martha Manning, Eliza, and Angelica in the corner setting up another game of beer pong. The girls were clearly a few drinks in, greeting them extremely excitedly. In the midst of the “hi’s” and hugs, Alex found himself standing next to the eldest Schuyler sister. </p><p>“You must be the famed Angelica Schuyler.” He reached to shake her hand. She took it in a polite but firm grip. </p><p>“I’m not sure about famed,” she teased. “And you must be Alexander.”</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you.”</p><p>Angelica smiled. Her smile wasn’t genuine and heartfelt like Eliza’s; nor was it mischievous like Peggy. No, she was far more guarded than her sisters. Angelica looked at him with an analytical intelligence, like she was trying to figure him out. Alex was fascinated. </p><p>“You want to play?” she asked, guestering to the beer pong. “Eliza’s not the best and I could use a new partner.”</p><p>“I haven’t played much,” he laughed. “I’m not promising that I’m any good.”</p><p>She smiled flirtatiously.</p><p>“We’ll see.”<br/>
Several games and drinks later, Alex was feeling it. Eventually, Laf came downstairs and dragged them away from the games to the larger group dancing. Alex had forgotten how much he enjoyed the few dances and high school parties he’d attended before the Cooper’s. The buzz of the alcohol added to the rhythm of the music. Warm bodies swaying in sync. It was easy. Easy to get out of his own head. Easy to breathe. </p><p>Eventually, the initial rush of the party died down. Laf and Herc not-so-distreatly slipped away from the group, and John left to smoke up. Alex and the girls left the dance floor and crashed on the couch. </p><p>“So,” Angelica started, taking a sip and turning to him. “Where are you from?”</p><p>“I lived in NYC before here.” New York was easier to say than St. Croix. It invited less complicated questions.”</p><p>“That’s amazing,” Martha gushed. “I love New York. Last year, us seniors took a trip there.” </p><p>Alex smiled ruefully. New York is amazing, but he had a feeling that none of his new friends had ever been further uptown than Central Park. Perhaps a little into Harlem, but certainly not in Washington Height or any of the other boroughs, for that matter. </p><p>John came back in and collapsed onto the coach next to Alex. The pungent smell of weed clung to him, and was the most calm Alex had ever seen him.</p><p>“You good?” Alex laughed. John nodded, face splitting into a massive grin. </p><p>Shaking his head, Alex turned away from him. Thomas Jefferon had followed John inside and was now sitting by Angelica. They were bickering, though about what Alex wasn’t sure. His head was too fuzzy to follow the argument, not that he minded. He was enjoying just sitting there, being. </p><p>“I’m going to go get some chips.” John leaned forward to speak in his ear. “Want me to grab you a drink?”</p><p>“Yeah, thanks.”</p><p>“Anyone else want anything?” he asked the group.</p><p>“I’ll just come up with you,” Martha said, eyeing the still arguing Thomas and Angelica.</p><p>“Me too,” Eliza hurriedly added. </p><p>The three went up stairs leaving Alex with the bitter pair. Just as Alex turned towards them, Jefferson got up and walked away pissed off.</p><p>“What was that about?” Alex asked.</p><p>Angelica shocked her head and sighed.</p><p>“We were kinda seeing each other, but I broke it off a few days ago.”</p><p>“Why? What happened?”</p><p>“Nothing really.” She was quiet for a moment. “He caught feelings and wanted to make it official.”</p><p>“You weren’t interested?”</p><p>“Not really,” she grimaced. “He’s great in bed, but it’s not worth having to put up with his personality.”</p><p>Alex was torn between amusement and disgust. Angelica just laughed. Before he could respond, Herc came downstairs and over to them.</p><p>“Have you guys seen John?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Alex responded. “He went up with ‘liza and Martha to grab drinks.”</p><p>“Why?” Angelica asked.</p><p>“Lee and the other football players just showed up.” Just then a group of rowdy jocks came downstairs.</p><p>“Oh shit.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Herc breathed, glaring at the group. “I’ll just wait here til he comes back down. What’re we talking ‘bout?”</p><p>Alex tuned out the conversation, looking around the hazy basement. He loves parties. The music and voices shuts up the never-ending internal monologue of thought and concerns. He’s content just to let his mind wander. Absentmindedly, Alex went to take a sip only to remember that his cup was empty. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to see John and the girls returning with more. Instead he found John, stuck in conversation with the group of football guys Herc had pointed out earlier.</p><p>Alex nudged Herc, pointing to the boys across the room. Herc’s eyes widened and he got up. Alex followed.</p><p>“C’mon Johnny,” Lee was saying, once he got within ear shot. “You’ve been ignoring us all night. Aren’t you gonna to celebrate your new QB1.” Lee’s lackeys chortled behind him.</p><p>“Fuck off,” John responded. Lee’s face shifted from smug amusement to something far colder. </p><p>“Did it hurt your feelings?” He cooed. “When they pick me over you?”</p><p>“Your <em>father</em> picked you over me,” John shot back. “We both know the only reason you’re even on the team is because he’s the damn coach!”</p><p>“John,” Herc hissed in his ear. “Just let it go. He’s not worth it.”</p><p>John shook Herc off. People were gathering to watch the argument. Someone had turned down the music. The football guys started to shift uncomfortably, but Lee doubled down on the attack. </p><p>The room went absolutely silent. <em>People like you</em>. Lee’s statement echoed every single racist, ignorant, anti-immigrant sentiment Alex had encountered since arriving in America and it made his blood boil.</p><p>“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” John hissed. Half of Alex was hoping to god Lee was smart enough not to answer. The other half was hoping he would so that John could pummel him.</p><p>Lee responded, but the attack went in a different direction than expected.</p><p>“I’m just saying at least Mulligan here understood that he didn’t belong on the team when he started fucking that french cocksucker. You on the other hand …” Lee trailed off, smirking. Aside from the furious shouting at Lee from Angelica and Herc, there was a sense of confusion among the crowd. Alex noticed that John Laurens remained still.</p><p>“I’m not following,” he replied, in a suddenly steady voice. “I’m with Martha.”</p><p>“Like that stupid cunt isn’t just covering--”</p><p>“Don’t fucking talk about her like that!” </p><p>“We both know she’s just covering the fact that your a fag,” Lee sneered. “Just like that rest of your fucking fag friends!”</p><p>The words had barely left Lee’s mouth when John’s fist connected with Lee’s jaw. His head snapped to the side and he stumbled backwards for a moment. Everyone was frozen. Then he lunged at John knocking them both to the ground. He got one good punch on John’s nose, before John flipped them so he was on top. Punches rained down on Lee, until Herc pulled John off and away from him. Lee’s friends help him off the ground. </p><p>“Fuck you!” John spat, struggling against Herc’s grip. “Don’t say shit about them!”</p><p>“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want!”</p><p>“Not in my house,” Thomas Jefferson cut in, staring down Lee. “Get out.”</p><p>“The fuck?” Lee sputtered. “Laurens threw the first punch!”</p><p>“And Laurens,” Thomas spat. “Unlike you, was actually invited. I don’t let people talk to my guests like that. Leave.”</p><p>Lee huffed.  He turned and stalked out, flanked by his friends. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Herc asked, finally releasing hold of John’s arms.</p><p>“Fine.” John mumbled, wiping the blood gushing from his nose. </p><p>“Come on,” Jefferson sighed, looking them over. “I can’t have you bleeding all over my house.”</p><p>As they left, someone turned the music back on. Alex followed Jefferson as he led them into the kitchen. Laf, Eliza, and Martha were laughing at the island when they came in. </p><p>“Oh my god!” Martha explained, jumping up to get to her boyfriend. “What happened?”</p><p>“Lee,” Herc muttered, protectively wrapping his hand around Laf’s shoulder. </p><p>“Here.” Eliza had grabbed some paper towels and was tilting John’s head back. He winced in pain, but said nothing. </p><p>“Okay, but is anyone going to tell us what <em>actually</em> happened?” Martha demanded, glaring at the boys who’d seen the fight. With John in disposed and Herc seemingly unwilling, Alex launched into what he saw of the fight. When he was done there was a moment of silence. The incident had sobered all of them up real quick. </p><p>“I can’t believe he would actually say that,” Eliza said, her rage barely subdued. “That’s just so unnecessarily horrible.” </p><p>“Well that’s Lee for ya,” John winced. </p><p>“Weird choice of attack, isn’t it?” Jefferson commented, almost smug. He’d been quiet the whole time and Alex had forgotten he was even there. “If he wanted to piss you off, John, why the whole homophobic route?”</p><p>“Hercules and I being together is still pretty recent news for them,” Lafayette said, uncharacteristically quiet. “John, Herc and I have been friends for years. Lee must have known it would bother him.”</p><p>“Yeah, but that wasn’t all he was saying,” Jefferson pressed on. “Why imply John was gay too? It seems kinda random, unless he knows something we all don’t.” He finished with a pointed look at John. </p><p>There was a tense moment, the group staring at Jefferson, expressions ranging from incredulous to beyond pissed off. Alex caught a nervous glance between Martha and John.</p><p>“This isn’t a fucking cross-examination Jefferson,” Alex snapped. “John doesn’t have to explain Lee’s attacks.”</p><p>“Jesus, calm down.” Jefferson rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, the whole thing was a little sus.”</p><p>Before Alex could reply, Angelica jumped in. </p><p>“And you’ve said it, so can you shut up now.”</p><p>Jefferson raised his arms in mock surrender. He went to get another drink. </p><p>They were all silent for a moment, no one sure what to say next. </p><p>“While I would never condone violence,” Eliza began, matter of factly. “I am very pleased that you punched him, John.”</p><p>It wasn’t particularly funny, but it cut the tension and was such an Eliza thing to say that it cracked them all up. Alex felt his heart swell with adoration for these people. </p><p>“Come on,” Laf grinned. “We’re not letting Lee ruin our fun. I am also way too sober right now.”</p><p>“Stack cup?” Angelica suggested.</p><p>There was a chorus of agreement. Grabbing some solo cups and beer from the fridge, they moved to head back downstairs.</p><p>Alex went to follow, before realizing that they were leaving someone behind.</p><p>“You coming John?”</p><p>“I’m going to wait til I stop bleeding,” he responded grimly.</p><p>Alex hesitated.</p><p>“You go,” Martha offered. “I’ll stay with John.”</p><p>Alex nodded, and ignoring the twinge of disappointment, he followed his friends back downstairs. It quickly disappeared, though. Laf was right and they were all determined not to let the events so far ruin their night. Soon Alex was right back where he was before the fight. </p><p>They were all happily inebriated -- right in the middle of a game of Never-Have-I-Ever -- when John ran down the stairs.</p><p>“Guys!” he shouted. “Guys! Cops just pulled up!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>Writing Notes:</b><br/>- Merde=shit (though considered a much worse swear than it's English translation)<br/>- John est tres opiniatres = John is very opintionated<br/>- Petit lion or little lion is a nickname for Hamilton used by both the Marquis de Lafayette and John Laurens (as well as Washington's other aide de camps) during the war. I couldn't find a natural place to introduce the guys using it in this fic so I feel like it's more something the call Alex behind his back/right in front of him to piss him off (and boy does it work)<br/>- It will be cleared up later (and has been references throughout previous chapters but my uploads are far apart and I don't expect you guys to remember) but here are their ages in this fic: Seniors/Grade 12: Hercules, Angelica, Martha Manning, James Maddison (will appear) Juniors/Grade 11: Alex, Lafayette, Thomas Jefferson, John Laurens (though is supposed to a Senior for ... reasons) and Aaron Burr (later) (Peggy is a Freshman btw).</p><p> </p><p>There we go! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Not sure when the next one will be out (sorry about the cliffhanger). It I don't get it out in the next month or two, you guys probably won't here from me until after my April exams :( Sorry, but I hope y'all understand. I do have the next chapter outlined and party of it written up though. </p><p><b>Next Up:</b> Party aftermath and questions answered.</p>
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